


Ticking

by princenoctagon



Category: IT (1990), IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon Related, Canon Universe, Countdown, Minor Mystery, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-09 20:14:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12283602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princenoctagon/pseuds/princenoctagon
Summary: Bill Denbrough has a mystery on his arm.





	Ticking

Bill’s had the countdown clock on his wrist for as long as he could remember – which wasn’t very long, if he was being honest with himself. It seemed like one day he woke up and there it was. A literal wristwatch.

A part of him knows what it’s for. Everybody has one, smiling couples holding hands, tracing the little numbers with a palpable affection. He knows it’s a natural thing – but he doesn’t know who his countdown is for.

Audra has a countdown, too, but hers says almost three decades whereas Bill’s is close to calling it quits (twelve minutes and seventeen seconds from calling it quits, exactly). So he knows it can’t be counting down to the same thing.

Sometimes, out of the corner of his eye, he catches her looking at her clock and smiling at him.

Bill does the same for her but it never feels quite right.

Not that he hasn’t considered asking her about it, asking her what it does and why everybody has it

_(asking her why everyone knows but him)_

and maybe one day he’ll sit her down and say, “Audra, what is it about this little timer that makes you so happy?”

At he did just that, right after breakfast, when he caught her staring again.

“You alright, Bill?”

He’d nodded and smiled. “You sure like looking at that thing. Mind telling me why?”

Audra had laughed, not a measured Hollywood laugh she put on at meetups but a real, deep laugh.  _Maybe the kind Audrey Philpott used_ , he thought absently. “I love you too, Bill,” she said with a shake of her head.

Now, late at night, she comes into their room, an air of concern following her like a toxic cloud.

“Are you feeling okay?” Audra sits down next to him on the bed. “I’ve just - well, I’ve never heard anyone say that about a timer before.”

She takes his wrist, trailing her finger over the numbers 

_(only four minutes left now)_

and sighing. “I know we didn’t do what the world expected of us – I’m not really your soulmate, am I? – but we’ve loved each other for almost twelve years now – and I know this countdown must be hard for you – ”

She reaches for his hand.  _Soulmate_. Bill intertwines their fingers but his mind is far, far away, remembering things he never thought he would. Remembering a small town in Maine – disappearances –

– a  _clown_ –

– and his friends?

Bill’s heart hammers in his chest. How, how had he forgotten?  _Seven of us,_  he thinks,  _seven little losers in a misfit club in Derry_. It was him and…someone else. A girl, maybe with glasses? A kid, constantly sick. And  _one_  of them, he was especially close to Bill – closer than he should have been to a little Jewish boy in Derry, 1958, and the clocks on their wrists had sprung to life the moment they held hands for the first time –

Just as soon as the memory hits him, it’s gone again.  _Odd. So, so odd._ Where had that come from?

Beside him, Audra places a gentle hand on his cheek. “Bill?”

He startles. He runs his thumb over her hand and gives her a soft smile. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’ve been feeling a little strange lately. About this clock, I suppose.”

Audra gives him a comforting look. “That’s normal, I heard. Knowing when someone you’re connected to is about to die?” She shakes her head. “Spooky, isn’t it? Put that in one of your books.”

 _Die? Die, who dies?_ There’s a cold feeling in his stomach as Bill stares at his wrist. The clock ticks down, down, down – three two one! And just like that, the numbers stop.

He’s alive. Audra’s alive. He takes a shaky breath.

The pain of remembering passes faster than it came.

“Nothing to worry about after all,” he says, taking a last long look at his clock. “I suppose it’s too much trouble to ask if you know who this was for?”

And they both share a laugh.

* * *

Thousands of miles away, in Atlanta, Stan Uris is taking a bath.

**Author's Note:**

> what a tweest


End file.
